


which I will again and again and again kiss

by zjofierose



Series: YoI rarepair week [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Beach Holidays, Chris would like to learn how to sex properly, Developing Friendships, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sweet, Vacation, Viktor agrees to give him a hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22221994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: Victor needs a vacation; Chris has just the offer. Chris would like to up his bedroom game; Victor is happy to help. The result is a lot of day drinking and lazy, happy, fooling around. Everyone wins!
Relationships: Christophe Giacometti/Victor Nikiforov
Series: YoI rarepair week [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594894
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45
Collections: YOI Rare Pair Week 2020





	which I will again and again and again kiss

**Author's Note:**

> A prequel in the Star, Star verse. Written for the YoI Rarepair Week Day 5 prompt, Vacation.

“Darling,” Christophe says to him after Worlds, and Viktor has to smile at the affectation, “take a trip with me.”

“A trip?” Viktor asks, packing his gear into his bags, shoving his most recent gold to the bottom of his backpack, “where?”

“I don’t know,” Chris shrugs, his face open and guileless. He’s recently changed his haircut from the childish round cut he’d had when they’d first met to a more adult shape, and it brings out his cheekbones. He’s also shot up several inches in the last year, making him nearly Viktor’s height. “Maybe America? I haven’t been. Or Spain is nice this time of year?”

Viktor snorts, tying his hair into a fast and dirty braid. It’s still full of hairspray from his performance, and he can’t wait to wash it. “One of those is nicer than the other,” he grins, “and doesn’t involve a lengthy plane ride.”

“Lazy,” Chris rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ve got a cousin with a vacation flat outside of Barcelona that he lets the family use. I can call him and see when it’s free.”

Viktor hums. “Barcelona sounds lovely. Can we not do anything?”

“ _ Certainement _ ,” Chris answers, “we’d have to take the train into the city anyway, so we can just not. Beach, booze, and babes.” He winks, and Viktor snorts. At now-eighteen, Chris is dead set on cultivating a reputation as a heartbreaker, and so far it seems to be working. His routines this year capitalized on his new height, all length of leg and lean torso, skirting the edge of too mature but keeping it cheeky and fun. 

“Ok,” Viktor nods, slinging his bag over his arm. “Keep me posted.” He leans in and kisses Chris’ cheek just to enjoy the blush that springs up. Chris isn’t quite as sophisticated and mature as he’d like to pretend just yet, and Viktor isn’t above teasing him. He smiles as he walks off, letting his hips and braid swing, knowing that Chris will be watching.

\--

“Bunk beds?” Viktor asks, pulling a face as he eyeballs the first room. 

Chris shrugs. “Like I said, my cousin lets the family use it. There’s this room, or there’s the main bedroom, which has a queen. We can share that, or we can be in here, or we can each have a room.”

“I’m too fucking old for bunkbeds,” Viktor declares, rolling his suitcase down the hall, “you can join me or not, but I’m sleeping in here.”

“Nothing but the best for the great Viktor Nikiforov,” Chris says, laughing as he follows Viktor into the master bedroom. It’s clearly the right choice - the room has a balcony and a view of the sea, warm and teal in the late afternoon sun, gentle white-capped waves rolling in to wash on the sandy shore. The bed is large and plush, a faded floral bedspread and too many pillows, and plenty of room for luggage. 

Viktor smiles. “Vitya, please,” he says, turning to Chris, and Chris blinks. They’ve been casual friends for a few years now, saying hi at competitions and wishing each other luck on social media. They started texting regularly a year or so ago, after Viktor came to Chris’ seventeenth birthday blowout in Switzerland, but this is the first time they’ve ever really been alone together, and Viktor’s honestly looking forward to it. Chris is easy, fun, friendly - everything Viktor’s life in Russia is not, at the moment, and a long weekend on the beach in Spain with Chris is just what he needs right now. 

“C’mon, Vitya,” Chris grins, his eyes fond, “let’s get changed and go find some food.”

\--

They spend the first night wandering the town, walking the beach as the sun sets and then heading to a busy tapas bar for drinks and dinner. The evening stretches out long before them, and they don’t stumble back to the flat until well after two, pleasantly buzzed and leaning on each other, warm and laughing in the moonlight. 

Viktor wakes up in his underwear in the morning sun, hair a tangled mess on the pillow and Chris snoring away beside him. The clock on the nightstand reads eleven am, so he rolls himself out of bed and drinks a large glass of water before fishing his comb and his bathrobe out of his luggage and wandering out to the balcony.

He’s about halfway through the tangles when Chris steps out behind him, a mimosa in each hand, and settles onto the other barca-lounger. 

“ _ Bonjour, petit _ ,” Viktor greets, and takes the offered drink. “ _ Spacibo _ .”

“ _ Bitte schon _ ,” Chris answers easily, “what shall we do today,  _ cheri _ ?”

“Swim,” Viktor answers decisively, staring out at the water. It’s already warm in the late morning sun, it should be downright hot by the early afternoon, and it’s been too long since he’s swum in anything other than a pool. “And then, I don’t know. Food. Wine.”

“Boys?” Chris offers with a laugh, standing and taking the comb from Viktor’s hand. “May I?”

“Sure.” Viktor turns on his chair so that Chris has access to his hair as it falls down his back. Chris’ fingers are careful and sure, and Viktor hums in pleasure at the feeling of someone else’s hands on his head. “And I don’t know. Maybe. If there’s someone interesting.”

Chris chuckles, pulling the comb through the last tangles with even strokes. “So jaded.”

“I’d rather just relax with you,” Viktor says honestly, letting his eyes close as Chris sets down the comb and parts his hair into pieces, braiding it tightly into a shining silver rope.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Chris sighs. “Your hair is really just unfairly beautiful, Vitya.”

Maybe it’s the strength of the mimosa, or maybe it’s that he’s still half-asleep and more open than he usually allows himself to be, but Viktor just hums. “I’m thinking of cutting it.”

There’s no startled gasp from behind him, but rather a thoughtful silence as Chris hefts the weight of Viktor’s hair in his hand. “Why?” 

“It just feels like it’s time for a change,” Viktor answers. “I’m not who I was anymore. I want to be something new, something surprising.”

“That’s a good reason,” Chris answers, then wraps Viktor’s braid around his fist and pulls lightly. Nerves light up all the way down Viktor’s body and he gives a muted gasp, which just makes Chris chuckle. He frees his hand and drops the braid, then presses a kiss to the bared nape of Viktor’s neck, mouth warm and soft, before he steps away. “You’ll be beautiful either way, Vitya.”

\--

They pull on swim trunks and go for a run on the beach, sliding easily between an efficient jog and racing each other in and out of the waves, Chris running into the water enough to splash Viktor with chilly spray. Viktor retaliates by putting on a burst of speed and tackling Chris to the sand, rolling them over and over, laughing and laughing and laughing until he’s got Chris pinned beneath him, hip to hip and his hands holding Chris’ wrists above his head. 

There’s a sudden flash of heat in Chris’ deep green eyes, and Viktor can feel the spread of Chris’ waist between his thighs, and  _ oh _ , he thinks,  _ well _ . It’s no secret that Chris has had half a crush on Viktor for years, but it’s never been a problem, or even anything that Chris seemed to pay any attention to, for which Viktor’s been grateful. He gets it - he knows his image, he knows what he looks like, and Chris isn’t that much younger than him - younger enough to idolize, but close enough to catch up. 

Still, this is the first time Chris has felt like an equal when Viktor looks at him, an equal in all the ways that matter anyway, and Viktor lets his weight settle fully onto Chris’ abs, considering. Chris just watches him, lovely in the afternoon sun with his golden curls and long eyelashes, his lean, fit figure and his charming smile. It would be easy, Viktor thinks, Chris understands casual and he respects boundaries. 

Viktor leans in, presses his mouth lingeringly to Chris’ cheek, then lifts himself up and off in one smooth movement, smirking at the tent in Chris’ trunks. To his credit, Chris just closes his eyes and laughs, then picks himself up off the sand and runs into the ocean, diving with perfect form into an oncoming wave. 

“Come on in, Vitya,” he shouts when he surfaces, shaking water from his hair like a dog, “the water’s warm!”

Viktor grins and races into the surf.

\--

They come back to the apartment eventually to shower and dress, Viktor pouring them both tumblrs of water and glasses of champagne as Chris takes his turn in the shower, emerging eventually in a small towel and a big grin to drain both his drinks, one after another. 

It’s nothing Viktor hasn’t seen before in locker rooms or hotel pools or even today at the beach, but he lets his gaze slide over Chris’ body appraisingly, taking in the new width of his shoulders, the spray of light brown chest hair that grazes from his collar bones to his sternum, reappearing below his belly button to dive like an arrow below the edge of the terrycloth that clings low around his hips. 

“See something you like?” Chris asks, his tone light, and Viktor lifts his gaze to Chris’, holding it as he drains his champagne. 

“Yes,” Viktor says frankly, and smiles as Chris fails to repress the blush that rises in his cheeks. He sets his glass down and pulls the elastic out of his braid, letting it fall loose and wavy with salt around his shoulders, shaking it out just to watch the way Chris’ face goes hungry. “I’m in the shower. You decide what we’re doing for dinner.”

\--

Dinner ends up being paella and beer at a restaurant in the heart of the town, and Viktor lets himself get swept up in it. The town is small enough and the context unusual enough that no one seems to recognize them in their t-shirts and slides, sitting close on a bench by the wall. There’s a football game on the TV that they watch half-heartedly, rooting for opposite sides because neither of them follow the teams involved and it’s more fun that way. Viktor pays for dinner when his adopted team loses, magnanimous in defeat, and they pick up a six pack to go at a grocery store next to the restaurant as they leave and head back down to the beach. 

They drink three a-piece over an hour or so, watching the tide come in and the stars twinkle above them, talking about anything and everything that’s not skating for once in their short lives. It’s the most fun Viktor’s had in years, and when Chris leans over after he finishes his second beer and kisses Viktor on the mouth, Viktor just hums into it and lets him. It’s nice, nice to feel wanted for himself rather than his name or his skill or the way he fills out a leotard, and he knows with Chris that’s what it is; simple, genuine, regard. 

They kiss and drink and kiss some more, mouths a little sloppy and breathing a little heavy, and Viktor could almost pretend he’s a real boy, on break from uni and down at the beach with his boyfriend, making out until the breeze gets chilly and they decide to go in. 

They’re not drunk, not with their metabolisms and the amount of paella they’d consumed, but Viktor feels warm and fuzzy, and he can see a matching flush in Chris’ cheeks as they strip to their underwear and climb into the tub, using the handheld shower to rinse the sweat from their backs and the sand from their legs and feet.

Chris is laughing and soaked, and Viktor can’t stop smiling as he towels off, stripping his wet underwear away and dropping it on the floor so he can wrap a towel around his waist. Chris is half hard and unapologetic as he does the same, padding along behind Viktor into the bedroom and watching as Viktor sprawls out on the bed, full and relaxed and pleased with the world. Chris’ eyes are very green as he takes in Viktor, naked and spread out, covered only by his towel. 

“Vitya,” Chris says, his voice cautious as he kneels up onto the bed and climbs forward. He swings a leg over Viktor’s hips and settles into his lap, their towels bunching up in a semi-uncomfortable wad of damp terrycloth. “I want to ask you for a favor.”

“ _ Bien sur, mon cher, _ ” Viktor sets a hand absently on Chris’ knee, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the inside hollow of the joint. “What is it?”

Chris bites his lip. “Will you fuck me?” he asks, and Viktor blinks. It’s a straight-forward question, but there’s something more there, a subtext that Viktor doesn’t want to misinterpret.

“Why me, darling?” he keeps his tone gentle; it’s not a refusal, and Chris should be able to read that in his voice.

Chris shrugs, looking down at Viktor’s bare chest, tracing Viktor’s musculature with a finger. It’s not designed to titillate, but rather to calm. “I haven’t done that yet, but I want to. And I figured you’d know what you were doing, and do it well.”

“Have you fucked someone?” Viktor asks, and Chris nods. 

“A girl I grew up with. Wasn’t for me,” he laughs, “but I figured I’d try it just to check. With boys, no; just handies and blow jobs, getting off in the showers, things like that.” He purses his lips, then bats his lashes comically at Viktor. “I’d like a boyfriend, but also I’d like to get fucked by someone who’ll do a nice job of it.” 

“I’m not going to be your boyfriend, Chris,” Viktor warns him gently, and Chris nods.

“I know, Vitya, I’m not asking that.” He drags his hands across Viktor’s chest with more intent this time, mouth thoughtful. “I like what we are already. I’m enjoying this, and I hope you are, too.”

“I am,” Viktor agrees, “and I like this. I like  _ you _ . I just want to be clear.”

Chris smiles. “See? This is why I want it to be you. You’re a considerate bastard, in spite of being pretty enough that you could get away with being a real shit.”

Viktor laughs, a deep belly laugh that nearly unseats Chris from his hips. “Yeah,” he says still chuckling, “alright, Chris. I’ll fuck you.” He smiles at the excitement that lights up Chris’ face, and places a finger across Chris’ lips as Chris leans in to kiss him. “Not tonight, though. Tomorrow. Tonight I just want to enjoy you. Okay?”

Chris just beams. “ _ Absolument, cheri _ . Whatever you want, just say the word.”

Viktor grins, sliding his hands up under the edge of Chris’ towel, letting himself caress the thick muscle that makes up Chris’ thighs. There’s still a hint of boyish immaturity in Chris’ face as he gasps, goosebumps springing up across his skin, but he’s going to be truly stunning in another couple years, Viktor thinks. He lets his hands skim to the tops of Chris’ thighs, drops his thumbs into the apex of Chris’ hip joints, watching as his eyes flutter shut, then reaches around to pinch Chris firmly on the ass, laughing as he jumps. 

“Get off,” he says, “I want you on your stomach on the bed,  _ petit _ .”

Chris obeys with alacrity, swinging himself off and around, letting Viktor roll out of the way before he yanks towel off with a flourish and flops facedown onto the bed, his toned ass curving pale and round from the arch of his lower back. Viktor can see the tan he’s developed since the end of the season, the freckles across his shoulders and the sunstreaks in the top of his hair, and he nudges Chris’ knees apart so that he can settle between them.

“Has anyone ever played with your ass,  _ bébé _ ?” he asks, running his hands firmly up from the backs of Chris’ knees to the top of his glutes, squeezing his cheeks together and leaning in with his body weight to press into the strong muscle. 

“Only me,” Chris answers, his voice already rough, “and some toys, but you know. You can only reach so well.”

“Mm,” Viktor hums in acknowledgment. “Darling. We’re going to start there,  _ da _ ?”

“ _ Da _ ,” Chris groans, “do your worst.”

“You mean my best,” Viktor chirps, and Chris snorts. “Knees up, lovely,” he taps at the sides of Chris’ legs, waiting till he’s pulled them up beneath him, chest still on the bed, but ass elevated on his feet and easily reached. 

“There’s some lube in my suitcase,” Chris tells him, voice muffled by the pillow, “if you want it.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Optimistic.” He slides off the bed and flips open Chris’ suitcase, finding the small bottle easily and climbing back into position.

“No,” Chris corrects, “just hopeful.”

“Mm,” Viktor makes no further comment as he settles on his knees behind Chris, setting the bottle to his side for easy access. “First, I’m going to just touch you. Have you had a love affair yet? A real one?”

“No,” Chris says again, sighing mournfully into the pillow, his body relaxing as Viktor runs his warm hands up and down his back, his arms, into his hair and back down to his hips, soothing and rhythmic. “Just a night with Antonia, and then a few hook-ups with guys at the rink, guys at bars, you know how it is.”

Viktor sighs, kneeling up to press a line of kisses down Chris’ back. He does, indeed, know how it is. “A shame. You’re really quite beautiful, Chris.”

“Flatterer,” Chris purrs into the pillow, and Viktor presses his mouth to the dimples at the base of Chris’ spine, lingering as Chris’ body relaxes beneath him. He can feel his own cock thickening between his legs, and he rests his cheek on Chris’ low back as he uncaps the lube and squeezes some into his fingers. Chris is breathing slow and deep beneath him, and Viktor rubs his face back and forth across Chris’ sacrum, letting his faint day-old stubble drag across the smooth skin. 

He brings the lube to body temperature in one hand while he reaches with the other, tracing the shape of Chris’ ass with the palm of his hand, pressing and spreading as he goes before releasing when his hand meets the top of Chris’ thigh. He repeats the process, over and over again, setting up a rhythm with the slow drag of skin on skin that has Chris shifting into the duvet and spreading his knees unconsciously as Viktor moves his body. 

The taste of him when Viktor lowers his mouth to Chris’ skin is salt and sand, a faint hint of the coconut body oil that Viktor saw in the bathroom. He hears the hitch in Chris’ breath as he lets his mouth wander across the warm firmness of a glute to the divide between, the whisper of peach fuzz beneath his tongue soft and appealing.

There’s a shiver that ripples through Chris’ body from the top of his head to his toes when Viktor drags his tongue lower, and Viktor smiles, stroking a hand from Chris’ shoulder to his hip. “Relax,  _ petit _ ,” he whispers, and feels Chris take a long breath before going limp beneath him, melting into the faded floral duvet. “That’s it,” Viktor tells him, and turns his attention back to the task before him.

It’s a skill, and Viktor has always taken pride in his skills, has always considered anything he does with his body to be a work of art; sex, when he’d discovered it, had been no different than anything else. He’d made a study of what worked and what didn’t, learned his own preferences and strengths, and set out to be the best at what he did.

He waits until Chris is breathing hard beneath him, his sides heaving in and out, his hands opening and closing where they lie palms up on the bed, before Viktor brings his first finger up to join his tongue, tracing lightly around the rim of Chris’ hole, the gentlest of questions.

“ _ Ouais _ ,” Chris groans out before Viktor can even pull back to ask, “ _ da _ , Vitya,  _ please _ .”

Viktor hums in acknowledgment, pressing softly, inexorably, letting his finger slide in easily with the anticipation of Chris’ body and the glide of the lube. The motion is just small, just careful, and he lets his tongue carry the conversation as his finger slides deeper, stroking statements and pulling questions as it strokes across the delicate skin. 

Chris whines at press of a second finger, his voice high and needy, his hips shifting under Viktor’s free hand as he adjusts his position against the bed. Viktor smooths his arm down Chris’ side, reaching down between his legs to grasp his cock where it drags against the bed. He croons sweet nonsense in Russian, never pulling his mouth away, keeping the motion of his hands shallow and slow as Chris’ body bucks beneath him.

A third finger slips in easy, Viktor’s tongue chasing sibilants after it, and this time he presses deeper, letting his grip on Chris’ dick tighten, pulling gently as Chris rocks back and forth between the press of Viktor’s fingers and the pull of his grasp. 

There’s a moment when Viktor flicks his tongue just so as he angles his fingers down, and Chris gives a shout, body stretching out hard as he comes all over Viktor’s hand and the bed, gasping as Viktor pulls him through the aftershocks, his touch firm but easy, his fingers sliding out as his mouth presses praise and promises to Chris’ skin.

He waits until Chris’ breathing has evened out a bit before pulling himself away, sliding up the bed to kneel at Chris’ side as he flops over onto his back, face and chest flushed and eyes gleaming.

“Well?” Viktor asks, grinning. 

“ _ Mon Dieu _ ,” Chris groans, pulling an arm over his eyes, “get up here and fuck my mouth, you glorious creature, I’m not fit for anything else.”

Viktor laughs, throwing his head back, his hair spilling over his shoulders. “If you insist,” he grins, sliding up the bed and guiding his hard cock into Chris’ open mouth. Chris hums in pleasure as Viktor straddles his shoulders, Chris’ hands coming up to wrap around Viktor’s thighs as he rocks gently back and forth. 

“Lovely,” Viktor says, threading his long fingers into Chris’ blond curls, staring into his sharp hazel eyes as his pink mouth curves around the soft skin of Viktor’s erection, warm and wet and perfect as Viktor picks up a little speed. “Can I come in your mouth, darling?” he asks, his pace measured but face flushing and a light sweat springing up as he carefully controls his depth and aim. 

Chris’ eyes close in bliss, and Viktor laughs as Chris frees a hand from Viktor’s thigh to hold up a thumb in clear approval. “Okay,” he says, and grips Chris’ hair a little more tightly, using it to anchor his rhythmic motion. Chris is drooling just slightly, his face pinked and pleased, palms big and firm on Viktor’s body, and it’s the grasp of those hands that finally does Viktor in, the feel of those hard fingers digging into his muscle that has him spilling down Chris’ throat, pulling out and finishing across his beautiful mouth as Chris pants prettily beneath him.

\---

They sleep nearly twelve hours, waking when the morning sun is almost at the apex of the sky. It’s hot, and Viktor peels himself from Chris’ naked body and pads into the bathroom, setting the tub to running while he wanders into the kitchen and chugs half a pitcher of water. There’s lemons in the fridge and a jar of potpourri on the living room side-table, so Viktor grabs them, the rest of the water pitcher, and a knife, and heads into the bathroom again. 

His hair has tangled while he slept, and he combs it out methodically, wincing as it pulls at his scalp. He turns the water off, and slices a pair of lemons into the bath, emptying the potpourri jar into the lukewarm water and watching the wilted petals unfurl as they connect with the surface. 

He turns back to the mirror, winding his hair into a tight coil behind his skull, tipping his head first one way, then another. What would he look like with it gone? Older, certainly. More masculine. He’s not sure how he feels about it, that he’d be able to pass for any random college student, or a young businessman off on holiday. It’s strange, to feel he could become forgettable; just another face in the crowd. 

He lets go of the coil and his hair unfurls like a veil around him, shimmering silver like a bridal gift. The scent of the water behind him is beginning to waft through the air, so he abandons the mirror for the tub, climbing in with a sweet sigh and settling to the bottom, leaving only his nose and eyes peering up at the pale blue ceiling.

He drifts, enjoying the coolness of the water against his warm skin, surfacing occasionally to drink from the pitcher before submerging again. His hair wafts around him in a silver cloud, shimmering and weightless in the gently sloshing water. He doesn’t sleep, but he dreams; thoughts of a new program, images from his boyhood home, idle fantasies of future costumes, future medals, future empty rooms. 

Chris appears eventually, his face pink with heat. Viktor opens his eyes, and Chris smiles.

“A melancholy mermaid,” he says, and Viktor sticks out his tongue. “Shove over, I’m all sticky.”

“Ugh,” Viktor sits up, folding his legs so Chris can get in. “You’re going to get my bathwater all gross.”

“Oh,” Chris blinks at him innocently, “did you rinse off all that sweat and lube and sand from last night before you got in?”

Viktor scowls half-heartedly, and Chris just laughs. “That’s what I thought,” he says, stretching out his legs so they rest on either side of Viktor’s hips. Chris may yet end up taller than he is, Viktor muses, and tries to imagine peering up into Chris’ lovely green eyes instead of down. He shakes his head.

“You look like… not a mermaid, you’re too pretty for that,” Chris says, “what are those terrible slavic mermaid things you have? The ones that drown men?”

“Too pretty to be a mermaid,” Viktor snorts, “I thought that was the point of mermaids - pretty.”

“ _ Non, non, _ ” Chris waves a hand, “pretty, yes, but seductive. Buxom. Full of life. You’re the opposite - you’re ethereal.”

“ _ Pусалка _ ,” Viktor murmurs, letting himself slide back down into the water. “That’s what you’re thinking of.” He closes his eyes. 

“Vitya,” Chris’ voice is gentle, kind, and when did he get old enough to be such a good friend, Viktor wonders. “Are you alright?”

Viktor gives it a moment of thought instead of voicing an immediate affirmation like he usually would. “Yes,” he says eventually, “or, I will be.” He shrugs. “It’s the end of the season. I’m just… tired.”

Chris nods sympathetically, and hooks a foot over Viktor’s thigh, his toes nudging cheekily against Viktor’s soft cock. “Okay,” he says as he slides down in the water, letting it wash over his yellow halo of hair, wetting it to heavy gold. “You can be whatever you need to be, Vitya.”

Viktor closes his eyes.

\--

The bathwater slowly warms to the temperature of the ambient air around them, and Viktor has to pull his feet and hands out to rest on the sides of the tub so that his fingers and toes don’t become painfully pruned. The room is silent except for their breathing and the cries of the gulls from outside, and it takes a little while before Viktor realizes that the touches of Chris’ toes against his thigh are deliberate, and a little while longer before Vitkor realizes he’s more than half hard.

“Come on,  _ cheri _ ,” Chris says eventually, standing and pulling the stopper from the tub, “let’s rinse off.” 

He pulls Viktor to his feet and turns on the hand sprayer, passing it to Viktor as he works a quick lather across his body with the soap. Viktor rinses the lemon seeds and bits of degraded flower petals from his skin, then passes the sprayer back to Chris as he takes his turn with the soap. They rinse quickly but thoroughly, and Chris rinses the tub as Viktor steps out and wraps himself in a towel. It’s too hot to keep it on, so he pats himself dry and unwraps it from himself, taking the towel and the knife with him as he wanders out to the balcony again to spread out on a chair.

Chris turns up behind him a moment later, pitcher refilled and lube in hand. The railing on the balcony is low enough that Viktor can see the edge of the sea, but high enough that their nudity is not obvious to anyone on the beach or neighboring balconies. Chris drops the lube onto the chair between Viktor’s legs and moves to the edge, the early afternoon sun gilding his wiry frame. 

“Now?” Viktor asks, and Chris turns to smile at him. 

“ _ S’il te plait _ ,” Chris says, and kneels on the lounger, “unless you have any objections.”

Viktor leans up and kisses him, soft and deep. Chris tastes like the lemons and champagne, warm and already familiar. “Okay,” he says, feeling himself begin to harden as Chris slides a hand up and into his hair, winding his fingers into Viktor’s damp mane. He lets his hands caress Chris’ thighs, curl around his hips and draw him in. “ _ Viens ici _ ,” he murmurs, and Chris re-adjusts, settling himself over Viktor’s hips, his filling cock dragging across Viktor’s belly. 

Viktor levers the lounger back one click up so that he can rest his weight against the nylon mesh back of the chair, but still press Chris forward against him until Viktor can get his mouth on Chris’ chest, sucking small lovebites onto Chris’ collarbones, his pecs, his sternum. Nothing hard enough to stay, just enough to leave a fading pink mark, evidence of Viktor’s pleasure as he moves across the surface of Chris’ skin. 

Chris gasps when Viktor slips a finger into him, testing - he’s still slick from last night and relaxed from the bath and the heat, but Viktor pulls out and squeezes some lube onto his hand anyway. Chris could take him now, but Viktor wants it to be easy, wants Chris to slide onto his cock like a popsicle into Chris’ plush mouth, easy and full of unabated pleasure. He leans forward again and captures Chris’ nipple lightly between his teeth, suckling sharply as he presses three fingers up and in, making Chris moan as he presses down onto Viktor’s hand. 

“Vitya,” he groans, and Viktor pulls back to look at him, flushed and determined where he hovers above Viktor’s thighs. “I’m good.”

Viktor nods and withdraws his hand, reaching for the lube again. “Shit,” he says suddenly, “you didn’t bring a condom out, did you?”

Chris rolls his eyes, and Viktor smacks him lightly on the side. “Do we need one?”

“I’m clean,” Viktor says, “because I’m a responsible adult who takes precautions and gets tested regularly. But you can’t trust that everyone will be, you know that, right?”

Chris just leans down to kiss him sweetly. “I know, Vitya. But you’re not everyone - you’re  _ you _ , and I trust you.”

It’s Viktor’s turn to roll his eyes, but it’s without heat as he slicks his cock with the lube. “It’ll be messier,” he warns, and Chris just shrugs. 

“Life is messy,” he says, running his hands down Viktor’s chest, “and I’ve got tile floors.”

Viktor snorts, and settles the head of his dick at Chris’ hole, holding it in place with one hand as he reaches up to finger Chris’ other nipple with his other. “Press down,” he says, “and go slow.”

Chris bites his lip and nods, the only sign of anxiety he’s shown so far. Viktor exhales as he feels the heat of Chris’ body opening up around him, removing his hand when Chris is halfway down.

“Take your time,” Viktor tells him, petting long strokes across his arms, his back, his chest, weaving his fingers into Chris’ hair and pulling him down for a kiss. He can feel Chris’ thighs trembling as he settles fully into Viktor’s lap, legs folded on either side of Viktor’s hips. The weight of him is sweet against Viktor’s body, grounding and over-warm.

“Feel good?” Viktor asks, and Chris nods, sighing happily into Viktor’s mouth. They stay there for a long moment, mouths moving languidly together, hands roaming and touching, reacquainting themselves with the delicate solidity of each other’s bodies. The ocean roars from below them, the sound of the tide mingling with the cries of the gulls and the shouts of children on the beach, the smell of salt and flowers hanging in the air around them as Viktor lets his hands come to rest on Chris’ hips.

Chris lets his forehead fall to Viktor’s shoulder, pressing his face into Viktor’s neck, and Viktor uses his hands to set Chris’ hips in motion, just a small rocking - back and forth, back and forth. Chris moans under his breath, thighs tensing as his body starts to pick up speed, but Viktor’s grip is firm, holding him to small, slow motions.

“ _Comme_ _ça_ ,” he whispers, “slow and steady. No need to rush.”

Viktor can feel the heat building between them, but he presses down his own urgency, letting his mind go empty, focusing on the sensation of Chris’ body warm and strong around him, on the tender shove of Chris’ face against his neck, Chris’ breath against his throat. He breathes; in and out, in and out, the rising of his chest bringing it in contact with Chris’ own, the regular exhale letting the air move between their bodies.

This time when Chris begins to speed up, Viktor lets him, but only just. He takes a hand and brings it down to wrap around Chris’ cock, just loosely, pressing it down against his own pelvis so that the motion of Chris’ body, back and forth and back and forth, drags it between Viktor’s hand and the close-trimmed roughness of his pubic hair. 

“Vitya,” Chris grumbles, pulling his face free enough to kiss his way up Viktor’s jaw, “this is lovely and all, but,” he bites into Viktor’s earlobe, and Viktor can’t help the shudder that breaks free, “I’d like it if you’d  _ fuck _ me.”

Viktor throws his head back and laughs. “ _ Oui, bien sur, petit _ .” He reaches out to tap Chris’ hands each in turn, flicking his fingers above his head. “Here, put your hands on the top of the chair and brace them. Spread your knees just a little…” he uses his elbow to knock Chris’ seat slightly wider, pulling on Chris’ cock just enough so that Chris sits up, resting his weight a little more in his arms. “You keep doing what you’re doing, and…” he thrusts up hard.

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” Chris breathes reverently, his eyes closing in bliss as Viktor does it again. “God, Vitya, yes, just like that, just like… oh…”

Viktor laughs, but it’s a breathy thing, his concentration on the sharp roll of his hips upward. He grasps at Chris’ waist, tipping him forward, listening to the pitch of the noises he makes as Viktor changes his angle and ups his speed.

“ _ Jesus _ , Vitya,  _ yes _ , don’t stop, don’t stop.” Chris breaks off into a drawn-out moan as Viktor squeezes his hand around Chris’ cock and comes all over Viktor’s chest, his body shuddering as his hands clutch to the top of the lounge chair. “Don’t  _ stop _ ,” he says again as Viktor’s motion slows, and Viktor frowns.

“It might not feel good anymore,” he warns, and Chris shakes his head, cupping Viktor’s cheek in one hand. 

“It still feels amazing. Please, Vitya, I want you to enjoy this, too.” His touch is gentle, and Viktor feels himself come apart just a little at his carefully welded seams. 

“Tell me to stop when you need me to,” he says, instead of giving voice to the thousand contradictory feelings that swell inside him with no words, no coherence to express themselves beyond the grasp of his fingers on Chris’ body. 

Chris nods and leans down to kiss him again, body slack with pleasure, and Viktor lets himself go, fucking up into Chris’ firm heat with abandon, the snap of his hips and slap of his skin against Chris’ ass the counterpoint to their gradually increasing moans. 

His climax when it comes rolls over him, catching him from behind and pulling him under as he surges up and into Chris who catches him and holds him fast, an anchor in the tide of Viktor’s own release. 

Viktor falls back to the chair, spent, and Chris pulls off slowly, biting his lip as he comes free. “Sorry,” Viktor says, smoothing a hand soothingly down Chris’ flank. “I should have stopped.”

“Sorry?” Chris stares at him incredulously. “You were magnificent,  _ cheri _ . Thank you,” he says, and kisses Viktor hard and firm. “It was everything I hoped.” He settles himself down on the lounger, shoved up hard against Viktor’s side, and draps an arm and a leg over Viktor’s chest and thighs. “ _ Thank you _ ,” he says again, and Viktor pats at him absently. It’s too hot to lie like this, but it’s also comforting, and Viktor doesn’t have the heart to resist. 

\--

They sleep for an hour or two, waking when the sun begins to shine directly on them, having lowered enough to escape the protective barrier of the striped awning. Chris sits up and groans, reaching for the water pitcher and chugging from it before passing it over to Viktor. 

“Sore?” Viktor asks, and Chris just laughs, standing and stretching in the sun. 

“Nah,” he grins, “not so bad. And absolutely worth it.”

Viktor laughs, setting the water pitcher down and scooting to the end of the lounger so that his knees bend and his feet come to settle on the cooler cement of the balcony floor. He picks up the knife and holds it out to Chris, eyes questioning.

“Now it’s my turn to ask the favor,” he says, and Chris raises an eyebrow.

“Your hair?” he asks, his eyes searching. “Darling, are you sure?”

“I am,” Viktor tells him, and pats the space behind him on the chair. “Please?”

Chris steps forward and takes the knife, but sets it down on the table. “I’ll do it,” he says, “but you have to let me take a picture of you like this, first.”

“You can’t share it,” Viktor tells him, and Chris smiles softly.

“Of course not, Vitya,” he answers. “Just for me. I promise.”

Viktor nods, and Chris disappears inside, returning quickly. Viktor feels the weight of Chris settle behind him, and gives an involuntary shiver as Chris hefts the strands of Viktor’s hair, draping it across Viktor’s shoulders and back until it’s falling like water to his waist, wavy in the humid air. 

Chris sighs wistfully. “ _ Unfair _ ,” he murmurs, and Viktor hears the  _ click _ of his phone camera. “You’ve even still got rose petals caught in it, you ridiculous man.” 

Viktor snorts, turning his head and looking up, and there’s another soft  _ click _ . “Just for me,” Chris tells him, and sets the phone aside, picking up the knife. “It’s not going to look very good, probably. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay,” Viktor shrugs. “I can always go and get it cleaned up. Just… I don’t want a stranger taking it off. It’s too…” he gestures futilely with his hands.

“Too personal,” Chris says, gathering Viktor’s hair into his hand, lifting the mass of it off his back. Goosebumps spring to life across Viktor’s shoulders as the breeze moves across the newly bared skin, and Viktor nods. It’s close enough. “Tell me again that you’re sure,” Chris says, and Viktor exhales, willing himself into calmness.

“I’m sure,” he says, and his voice is steady. There’s a sudden pressure and then a release, and then he can see out of the corner of his eye as Chris sets what must be at least half a meter of silver tail on the small table beside them.

“Hold still,” Chris says, setting a hand on Viktor’s head and pointing it forward. “I’ll give it a little shape, and then you can go to a professional tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Viktor says, words coming hard in the wake of the sudden freedom that courses through his veins. Chris just hums in response, his hands busy in the back of Viktor’s hair.

\---

The roar of the ocean is indistinguishable from the roar of the blood in his veins as Viktor walks out later into the sunset sea, eyes squinting at the gleam of light on the waves. The wind blows his newly short fringe around his eyes, tickling the back of his neck and the tops of his ears as he walks into the water, letting the waves crash around his legs, his hips, his waist. 

He has in his hand his shorn remainder, the sharp silver stripe of it a glowing contrast to the gold of the water around him. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it away, so while he’d let Christophe scatter the small, short pieces to the wind for birds to use as nests, he’s brought the bulk of it down here. 

His mouth twitches as he remembers Chris’ comments from earlier. Maybe Chris is wrong and he really  _ is _ a mermaid he thinks as he lets the next wave lift him off his feet, swelling around him like the momentum of a jump. He watches the water, timing it, and as the next one comes, he leaps, flinging his hand out wide, tossing the glinting strands as far as he can throw them into the water where they scatter into the flashing surf. 

The next wave rolls under him, and he kicks his feet up, letting it pull him up and over, lifting him high before dragging him under, the flicker of sun beautiful through the green water as it covers his head. He breaks the surface laughing, shaking his head hard and watching the short wet strands spray water droplets through the air. 

Viktor turns back to the beach and dives, submerging himself in the crash of the incoming waves as he makes his way back to shore.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter or tumblr or pillowfort as @zjofierose, and come tell me about all your rarepair feels!! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. <3


End file.
